autumn in c minor
by wintervilles
Summary: "Stay away from that boy," her mother says to her. And she tries to—really, she does. She hates the way he destroys things so easily, like snapping a thin twig between his fingertips. shameless fic featuring rin / len.
1. premonition

**a/n:** uhmmmmmmmmmmm

I wanted to try writing a mature fic so this happened

it's unbeta'd bc everyone is busy and i suck

this is like a three or four shot idk yet

anyways, this is rated M for a reason, so I'm assuming you guys are either 18+ or just rebellious and browsing the M-section anyways. idunno, I do not condone underage sex so all the characters are of age, but I do not shame either so, no judgment. wow this is awkward.

I should be more embarrassed but im not… mostly because this entire chapter is stupid background and I actually haven't written any rin x len yet hahaha. hah. ha. nervous laughs.

 **WARNING:** CONTAINS LARGE AMOUNTS OF BULL SHIT. GORE, _MAYBE_. ANGST. TRASHY, BADLY WRITTEN SEX LATER ON. AND MORE BULLSHIT. THE ENTIRE THING IS JUST BULLSHIT ACTUALLY. ENJOY. OR NOT. DO WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT.

You have been warned.

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* * *

 _because life is a symphony,_

 _it must have its c minor._

 _days when we hear only a discord of sharps and flats,_

 _and we wonder whether [life's] harmony will ever be restored._

 _W. Waldemar W. Argow_

.✿.

* * *

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.

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It is Autumn, and dusk is approaching like a stranger in the night, ready to enshroud the city in a blanket of inconspicuous shadows. She is dressed like she always is, in high heels and a long, flowing white dress that accentuates her curves. In her purse she has rose-colored lipstick, mascara, and her cell phone, but she distantly turns it off without much deliberation.

No one is going to call her at _3 a.m._ , anyways.

His house is on a hill, surrounded by forest and woodland and encapsulated in a timeless gloom that seems even _more_ ancient than the mansion itself. The large mansion is a spectacle to behold—white stone columns in the front and a fortress of trees in the back, with nothing but cold tiled floors in-between.

Her taxi driver is a quiet man with an impressive mustache, pointed at the ends like he has gone through great pains to style it each morning. He is broody and has a habit of muttering to himself, his eyes set in a dream-like state as he drives them past the tall, twinkling skyscrapers. There's a modest ring on his index finger that doesn't quite catch the light, and he gives it an absentminded glance, averting his attention away from the road for a fraction of a second. So he's married.

"—with fucking Kazuki," he mutters. "Out of all the people to screw around with behind my back, it's my _fucking brother_. People—no, _women_ —are shameless."

She notices how he unknowingly excuses his brother, like his part in the affair is just a minor complication.

"It takes two to tango," she says, not caring what he thought of her opinion.

The taxi driver throws a glance at the rearview mirror, his aged shoulders sagging a little in shame.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I mean no offense, _really_. It's been a rough week, is all."

"I'm sorry," she offers, although she isn't at all sorry. Sympathy is _not_ her expertise.

"It's okay," he says, his voice a feeble sound.

"Love is just a fantasy anyways."

.

.✮.

.

She hates the way he destroys things so easily, like breaking a thin twig with his fingertips. She hates his soft, yellow-gold hair and those luminescent blue eyes, inquisitive and unfeeling. Like pools of dark, murky ocean hidden beneath layers of blue.

She hates _him._

"Stay away from that boy," her mother says to her. "He's a bastard child, the son of a murderess who _killed_ the lover she was having an affair with."

"Why?"

The question is a soft, fearful sound in the otherwise stiflingly quiet room.

"Because love can make people do crazy things, sweetheart," her mother says. Lily is direct and sensible, only seeing things in shades of black and white. "Love and wealth, of course."

Rin imagines the crime scene, pools of blood on the floor and a keen sense of malice in the air—shiny floors glistening with moonlight blanketing over two figures on the ground. One is breathing in ragged, shallow breaths, and one has stopped breathing completely, liquid red pouring out of the fresh wound in his chest. In her mind she imagines the loud blare of police sirens and a horrified Kyo Kagamine, shaking and white-faced with terror and—for just a moment— _anger_.

 _"Why?"_ He must ask himself. _"Why? When I loved you."_

Her mother's words resonate within her.

 _Love can make people do crazy things._

"I want nothing to do with it," Rin says suddenly, the words a binding promise to herself.

 _Nothing to do with love._

She's not very good with promises, truth be told.

.

.✮.

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"Your clothes are in the way."

His voice is dark and smooth—like a thick poison coursing through her veins, making her feel slightly intoxicated. She could get drunk off his voice, probably.

She wants to memorize the fine lines of his face and that coy smile of his, like a cat has that just found its prey.

It was a mistake, though. Rin was no one's prey.

Least of all _his_.

"That's always the case, isn't it?" She muses. "My clothes being in the way. They prefer your floor, anyways."

Instead of elaborating further, she glides over towards the windowsill and opens the blinds. Streaks of moonlight begin to pour into the room, the light catching her golden locks and embracing her milky skin, shining like pale starlight on snow.

He closes the gap between them, his face dangerously close to her own. His smells like incense and something smoky, like wood burning in a furnace. His eyes are dark.

When he leans in to graze her neck, goosebumps shoot through her skin, frigid and alive.

"I could almost love you, if you'd let me," he murmurs against her hair.

 _Almost._

She laughs and it's a beautiful sound, but beautiful things are sometimes the most deceiving.

"Don't be silly, Len."

Her voice is a thin blade of ice in the dark room, cutting and sharp as she echoes the taxi driver's words:

"Love is just a _fantasy_ , anyways."

.

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* * *

:✿:

countdown – _four_ months prior.

Len's p.o.v

* * *

.

.

The room he meets her in is small–maybe desolate at best. There is a light bulb hanging overheard, and thin grey walls that give him the impression of an interrogation room. It probably is, for all he knows.

"She's coming soon," the officer standing across from him purrs. "Such a shame, though. I rather like being alone with you." She's voluptuous with an ample bosom and walks with a commanding confidence, her clothes clinging to her like a second skin.

The woman moves towards him and reaches out with her cold, bony fingers. She lightly strokes his arms in slow and fluid motions, and says "Its okay." He doesn't pull away, a numbing sense of acceptance settling over him instead. _Let her do what she wants. Don't cause trouble. Let it go._

She's a young thing, with caramel-brown hair and flecks of gold in her eyes. She's pretty, he observes, but her attitude is inappropriate. A prison room is not the time and place for flirting. _Not at all._ He simply nods in her direction, wishing he were someplace else other than the bare, dimly lit room. Somewhere far away from incompetent police officers and curious, pitying eyes.

A _click_ from the latch sounds at the door, and the handle begins to turn. He knows what is coming, yet he still manages to be surprised. The female officer clicks her tongue in annoyance, but nevertheless puts some distance between them.

Strands of bedraggled blonde hair surrounding a pale, ashen face enters the room, followed closely by an impassive guard. The deathly pallor to her skin is frightening, like soured milk that has been left outside for too long, and he sees new wrinkle lines that have formed on her face. They are a testament to her days spent alone in an empty, locked cell. Even with nothing but prison walls for company, she radiates the same beauty and charm—just a more broken version. Her handcuffs are tightly secured around her wrists; the skin is a red, swollen color, and he bites down on his tongue, fearful that he's going to say something rash.

 _Are you eating well? Are they kind to you?_ The devoted, filial part of him wonders how she is doing—whether she is lonely in her prison cell. The human part of him screams.

 _You're a murderer, a killer, a fucking psychopath—_

"Is that you Len?"

Her words are a bullet to his chest.

 _Mother._

"It's been a while," he says, trying hard to remain expressionless. "You've definitely seen better days."

"I don't really see days." She smiles, and the act contorts her face into something gruesome. "Just white walls and a timeless existence."

"That tends to happen when you _stab_ your lover to death."

She chuckles, and it sounds like glass breaking. He wonders if he ever knew her at all.

"I see you've learned to be cruel."

Her poker face is flawless as his dark eyes rest on her taunting visage, trying to search for the woman he'd loved like a man searching for made-up fish in the ocean.

"I only learn from the best."

The guard and the officer shift uncomfortably at the door, unsettled by the conversation transpiring between the woman and her son. But oh, _if they only knew._ If they only knew what it felt like to be betrayed and tossed away, left to rot with a man who didn't even share his blood, alone in a cold house with marble floors and colder people.

A nagging question dares to be asked, and he gives in, his anger transcending into something like weak acceptance.

"Why did you do it?"

The question is bitter on his tongue, like acid, and he finds himself struggling to swallow.

 _Why did you kill him?_

 _Why did you leave me?_

 _Tell me—_

 _Why do I love you?_

"Did you know," his mother suddenly says, her voice breaking the grudging silence, "That the density of blood is greater than that of water? We're mostly water, you and I. But I sat there, holding his lifeless form, blood seeping out through his wounds, I felt like I was drowning in it. _Like I was drowning in his blood._ "

Her eyes are unreadable pools of darkness as he stares into them, not sure what he's looking for. He finds nothing but an eerie, bleak vacancy, like whatever compels her to kill also consumes the humanity inside her. Len looks away with a hollow ache in his chest, disappointment washing over him like unrestrained tidal waves. Compassion has never been her friend, so why should now be any different?

The security guard coughs, the noise a deep rumbling sound in the confined space, and he stares at Len.

"I think that's enough," he says, and his voice low and gravelly, but not unkind. It is laced with a thick Russian accent, his 't's more of a _'th'_ sound. The female officer nods in agreement despite the curious expression on her face, and they slowly escort his mother out of the room, away from him.

"Bye," he says to her retreating back.

She leaves him with silence.

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* * *

:✿:

countdown – _four_ months prior.

Rin's p.o.v

* * *

.

.

Her mother tells her to despise him, but that's easy enough without instruction. It's not hard, when your father is _fucking around_ with his mother behind your mother's back. That's why, when her mother tells her about the murder scandal, a sense of vindication ripples through her. The woman who destroys relationships, who taints the image of her father and wreaks havoc on her life, is rotting away behind steel bars.

She's a forgiving person, usually. Unforeseen events happen. Mistakes happens. Things like hurricanes and tornadoes and first love will happen, but a tongue shoving its way into the mouth of someone else's husband _does not just happen._

It's springtime when she sees them, locked in an embrace, the woman sprawled across her father's office table and her long, inviting legs spread out. The woman has a slender frame and bright blonde hair that mirrors the sun's rays, while her father is muscular and dark-haired in comparison. Their clothes are strewn about, some on the floor and some on the table, both of them naked and shaking. A sheen layer of sweat coats their skin, and they move with a rhythmic, frenzied passion. Her father whispers vulgar words to her, and she replies with ragged gasps and strained words. He's standing up and pushing himself into her, while she sits on the very edge of the low table and lets him, moans of pleasure escaping her mouth.

Rin hides behind the safety of the door, terrified and ashamed. No one hears her.

 _Yes, mistakes happen._

 _It's mother's mistake for trusting you,_

 _Father._

And now, two years later, his lover is locked up away in prison and probably rotting away alone—a victim of her own greed and self-control.

Rin smiles to herself, the expression cold and unkind.

 _Karma feels like retribution._

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* * *

:✿:

countdown – _three_ months prior.

Rin's p.o.v

* * *

.

.

It's barely been a month since she's been in jail, that woman. It hasn't been long, but her husband is already desperate to reclaim his family's reputation, clinging onto the image of a respectable family like a insane man clinging to reality. So it's unsurprising when their household receives a small stamped envelope with a crimson-waxed seal, inviting them—along with a slew of other people—to dinner on the twentieth.

Her mother makes a small _tut-tut_ noise, and shakes her head while waggling her fingers.

"It's too early. He needs more time to grieve."

"It's hard to grieve for a murderess," Rin says, her tone dispassionate.

With quick movements, her mother plops herself onto the chesterfield couch next to her, her hair a flurry of brown and yellow locks.

"I feel for them, truthfully. Kyo Kagamine is a benevolent but unfortunate man. He cares for that woman's son, despite not owing their family a _shred_ of kindness."

"Is that so," Rin murmurs, not the least bit interested in the complexities of their family life.

 _"Rin."_

"What?"

Her next words are ominous.

"We're going to that dinner party."

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.✮.

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The mansion has a large, foreboding gate that is open in the entryway, surrounded by impenetrable bushes and a great stone wall. As they drive closer to the house, Rin sees lush green grass and vibrant flowers sprouting from patches on the ground.

She wears a light sun-colored chiffon dress, and two dainty diamond earrings hang on her ears, an heirloom from her great-grandmother. Her father knocks on the door—two loud, successive taps—his fingers trembling slightly.

 _How does it feel, coming into your ex-lover's home?_

 _How does it feel, sleeping in your wife's bed, eating your wife's food—once you've had a taste of sin?_

 _Father—_

She closes her eyes.

 _I hope the guilt drowns you._

The sound of a latch unlocking is heard, and muted voices bicker from the inside. A thin man answers the door, his features handsome and refined despite the dark circles under his eyes.

"Hello Kyo," her mother chirps cheerfully. A little _too cheerfully_ , actually.

"Come inside," he says brusquely, and they enter the house with apprehensive feelings, his hands guiding the way.

She moves stealthily like a cat, quiet and unassuming, and breathes in the stale, suffocating air. The grand building doesn't feel like anyone's home—it feels like an ornamented shell, pretty on the outside but all hollow on the inside.

"Welcome to our home," Kyo says to them, but his words are dull and empty, and she wonders why a man who has _everything_ looks like he's made of _nothing_ , all thin and stick-like. Wealth must be exhausting.

"We're so happy to have you, truly."

"Uh-huh," her parents say in unison, a little awed by the grandiose interior. Her father is quiet as his eyes soak in the sights with a pained recognition.

"Kyo, this house is amazing," her mother breathes, and her eyes flit from object to object, taking in the gold-detailing and intricate designs of the inside décor. Kyo Kagamine gives a small shake of his head, acknowledging the compliment but choosing not to respond. Previous guests have probably told him similar things, unused to the blatant display of wealth.

"The dining room is this way—come, everyone is already seated."

He rushes them like time is of the essence, but really it's a countdown—a countdown till his downfall.

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.✮.

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Her mother leans in close, her mouth brushing against the edges of her ears. "Stay away from that boy," she hisses, the reminder an echo of Rin's own thoughts.

"Remember who he is."

Rin nods in compliance, but the action is weak and unconvincing.

"I will."

And she plans to—but plans have an odd habit of going astray.

The moment she sees him, she knows that something's wrong with her. Because his eyes are a frigid, unearthly blue, and for a moment she thinks that they're _beautiful_ , but that can't be right. It can't be right, because he looks exactly like his mother, and finding any beauty in that terrifies her. His skin is a fair color with earthy undertones, much like the soft light that bathes a forest, and there's a concealed intelligence behind those eyes.

She can't help but stare, like a deer caught in the headlights, and it takes some persistent nudging from her mother before she moves on to find a seat.

Her seat is all the way at the end of the table, and he sits on the other end, directly across from her. For a moment, his head lifts up and he catches her staring.

His glare is earth-shattering.

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.✮.

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and you already know this  
but there's somebody i love  
you only call me when  
 _you're not the one i'm thinking of_

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.✮.

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	2. intolerance

**a/n:**

school has been killer. I'm sorz for somewhat abandoning the community, but life is hell. I will return in the summertime or stalk ao3 or just read old works or something. anyways, here's some filler shiet that in no way furthers the plot or gives you steamy rin x len but you know what, build-up is good. i think. hell if i know.

thanks for the reviews / follows !

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who am i kidding

this is absolute shit

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* * *

. . .

misfortunes spring from  
mankind's hatred  
of being _alone_

. . .

* * *

Dinner passes by without much event. The adults chatter with a nervous tinge in their voices, politeness preventing them from being silent altogether, and the conversation is strained like the ones at a funeral. The whole event is ridiculous, in her opinion. It's unnecessary. _Forced_. Kyo is a removed host; his smiles are halfhearted while his dialogues are subdued—he has a nasty habit of saying "Ah, is that so?" with an airy, detached look, and when he laughs the laughter never quite reaches his eyes.

She cuts into her salmon, the light pink flesh flaking away as she removes a small portion with her fork. She sticks it into her mouth and chews slowly. _Ugh_ , she thinks. _Way too salty. Overcooked._ She puts her fork down and it makes a small _clink_ noise on the marble dining table.

Across the table, Len sips on his wine in a bored manner. He's no longer looking at her— _or glaring at her,_ more precisely—and she feels relieved. His face is in a state of perpetual frowning, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He's quiet and observant, only choosing to speak when spoken to. Sometimes she feels the weight of his gaze on her skin, hot and searing, but she can do nothing except tighten her jaw and avert her eyes from his heated glare. She wishes that he'd stopped looking at her like that, like she has caused some _ostensible grievance_ upon his life when really it was the other way around.

At one point or another, a woman appears beside Len and whispers in his ear. She's lean and sultry and moves with a grace that Rin could never master, even if she _tried_. Vibrant, seafoam green hair cascades down her shoulders and diverges into two long, messy braids; both are tied together with two dainty white ribbons.

Rin wishes she had stunningly long hair like hers, instead of the unruly mess God has generously graced her with. Usually, her hair turns into an octopus-like shape, all wild and uncooperative without a heavy-duty straightener nearby.

 _She's beautiful._

Rin touches her own short blonde strands self-consciously, not realizing that she is doing so. _Vanity is a wicked thing_.

They whisper to each other—the girl giggles and does that thing where she bashes her impossibly long eyelashes at him, except she does it so effortlessly that it almost seems natural. Len's body relaxes for the first time, and there's nothing _cold_ about the look that he gives her, like she's the stars and the moons in the sky. Her beautiful, ivory silk-dress makes a mockery out of Rin's own dandelion-hued attire. A spontaneous laugh emits from her quaint lips, and Len cracks a _smile_ for the first time, transforming his entire face into something dangerously charming.

She's feminine and elegant and just so _pretty_ , so when Rin catches the expression in Len's eyes when he looks at her, it makes sense.

 _He's in love with her._

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.✮.

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When dinner finishes, the ragtag group disperses, some choosing to roam the vast corridors with Kyo's permission. A morbid curiosity overtakes Rin, and she finds herself wandering the spacious halls.

It's strange, knowing that this would have been _her_ home. That her uncle Kyo Kagamine would have been living a humble life while his older brother— _her father_ —would have inherited all of this… grandeur.

There would have been no deaths, no affairs, and no illegitimate heirs.

 _No Len Kagamine._

While approaching a noisy room, Rin stops at the entrance, and for a moment she debates the ethics of eavesdropping, but the morality of it doesn't plague her for long. One mustn't lose sleep over another one's carelessness, after all. She places her ear against the solid frame of the cumbersome oak door.

Their shouts are gunshots in the night, ricocheting off the walls and damaging whoever is nearby like fast, lethal bullets.

She hears Lily speak first, and her voice is an ugly, anguished sound.

" _Fuck you_ for cheating on me. _Fuck you_ for reducing what you did to me to the word cheating, as if that could explain everything you've ruined," she seethes.

It doesn't sound like her amiable mother, but the voice is unmistakably hers, laced tight with bitterness and disgust.

Her father's voice is thunderous in comparison, angry and desperate like a provoked man with nothing to lose.

"Empty? _Empty?_ I feel empty whenever I'm with you. I feel empty whenever we dance around each other like marionettes, just to avoid the other." He pauses, and she can hear a sharp intake of breath. "Empty when you said you loved me because _you lied_."

Her mother scoffs at the word 'love' like it's the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard of.

"Love? _Hah._ I thought you could make me _happy_ , Leon. They're not synonymous, you know."

 _A penniless heir._

 _A cunning daughter._

 _Greed._

 _"I've tried._ I've given you everything. Don't you know that?" he shouts, and his words are so pained that Rin breaks a little just hearing him. "I left my family's fortune for you, when they casted me away for falling in love with a mere _farmer's daughter,_ and now I have nothing—just a loveless marriage and a pile of debt. I'm suffocating and you tied the noose, Lily."

 _You have me_ , Rin thinks, although it's a pathetic thought.

 _You have me._

"No, you have memories of bedding a _killer_ , Leon. Tell me about that. Tell me how good it felt when you fucked her," she hisses.

His voice is a vicious snarl. "Better than anything I've ever felt with _you_ , sweetheart."

There is a scream and something shatters, and it feels like her world is shattering along with it. Little broken pieces of normalcy and vase shards and whatever litters the ground is mixed with pieces of her life, all a haphazard mess on Kyo Kagamine's smooth floors.

 _Sorry, Kyo._

 _First you have to clean up blood._

 _Now you have to clean up my family's_ bullshit _._

If she allows it, the acute sense of betrayal could take root within her and absorb all that she is.

 _Close your eyes._

 _Walk away._

With clenched fists, Rin vanishes into the gloomy halls like a shadow, leaving a trail of bitterness in her wake.

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.✮.

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She wanders into some private library. The room is about the size of an average person's living room, with shelves of books covering most of the walls.

When he appears, she doesn't notice it at first.

After hearing the subtle footsteps, she turns around and they lock gazes. He's staring at her from across the room and there's this wild look in his eyes that frightens her, just a little. _He looks like his mother_ is her first thought. _A fragile beauty with discerning eyes_. She wants to drown in those eyes.

He analyzes her with that calculating gaze of his, drinking her in like the fine wine at the dinner table. Her entire body feels hot as his eyes roam her figure, stopping on the swell of her breasts and the curves of her hips. She remembers the affection in his eyes when he looked at the teal-haired girl, and she remembers the hatred in his eyes when he looked at _her._

"Do you know who I am?" she asks. Her contempt is hidden beneath a well-constructed mask of indifference.

He scowls, quickly averting his gaze from her body.

"Rin Kagamine, daughter of Leon Kagamine. Heir to nothing, except maybe a reputation for being the outcasted branch of the Kagamine family tree. And my _cousin_ , I guess."

He says the last part like it's an afterthought.

She _hates_ feeling like an afterthought.

"We prefer the term _unfortunate_ to _outcasted._ "

His voice is almost a growl when he says, "I don't give a _fuck_ what you people prefer."

It's a little strange, feeling such blatant hostility from someone who has wronged her. It troubles her, and she wants to know why he's forcing her to feel guilty when his _mother_ is the one in jail. It's a low blow, she knows, but so was stealing her father.

He wants something, but she doesn't have it in her to ask what it is. Instead, she walks over towards the door to leave.

"You're much more charming when you smile, _Len_."

She imagines the confusion spreading across his face, and the thought is almost amusing, but she doesn't turn around to see.

Not even when he says, "Your father was there too, you know."

.

.✮.

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vanilla skies  
white picket fences in your eyes  
a vision of you and me

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.✮.

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End file.
